


And He Replies

by monochromerb



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Prince Jaskier | Dandelion, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:53:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23957206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monochromerb/pseuds/monochromerb
Summary: Geralt has been working as a stable hand for the Royal family in Lettenhove, and in the eight years of his work there, music had always wove its way through the stables and gardens until today.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 3
Kudos: 59





	And He Replies

There was a window tall enough for a man to stand in on the Northern wall of the room. The sill was well worn, the lock on the outside had long since been useless, and a bundle of long blue feathers hung from each of the handles on the glass. There was nothing else on that wall, no paintings or bookshelves, just the only window the prince had to the outside world. 

The whole thing was rather cliche when Jaskier put any thought into it. The sole heir to the kingdom, locked away in a tower so high, the only way to reach it was to fly, and the prince himself was unable. For all intents and purposes it should have been the start to a grand fairytale, with a dashing rescue, or it would have been if he had someone to save him. 

That window had taunted him for ten years at this point, his flight feathers strung together and used as decoration, a reminder of his parent’s mercy for him. They had only taken ten of his feathers, his wings still looked whole when they rested on his back. Although now they were little more than decoration for the prince. He had tried to abandon his title one too many times when he was young, and at seventeen his parents decided to put an end to that, which left him where he was now. A flightless bird in a gilded cage.

His countless tutors, servants, and other members of the royal family all got to flutter past that window, to drift in the freedom of an endless sky, but there wasn’t anything to be done now. If he couldn’t fly he would have to find other ways to soar.

—

Geralt had worked in the royal stables for eight years, after apprentencing with their stable master since he was a child, and by now he barely noticed the music that drifted on the air as he went about his work. The soft sounds of lute strings, and faint singing were as expected as the knickers he was greeted with every morning, it was all part of the routine. 

He had questioned it at first, realizing that the sound wasn’t coming from the surrounding grounds, but, not one to light a fire with forgotten match sticks, Geralt moved on. He had work to attend to, and the music was simply a pleasant addition to his day, until it was missing.

The silence was haunting; the stable hand heard every breath that escaped him that day. He had become so focused on listening for the music but the only beat he could find was that of his own heart. Even when he worked his favorite mare in the barn, he couldn't seem to keep his thoughts on his work, and by lunch Vesemir decided to pull him aside. He could never get anything past his mentor, no matter how many times he tried.

“Geralt, you’re distracted today,” Vesemir, said gently, “you haven’t taken a day off in a while, why don’t you head home early today?” 

Geralt paused for a moment before answering. “Have Eskel lunge Roach before he leaves, and I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” He would have put up a fight about it if he hadn’t seen the concern in Vesemir’s eyes, so he went without complaint, although he couldn't help visiting Roach before he left. 

The mare tossed her head as he approached, and Geralt ran his hand along her nose to soothe her. “I know, I was looking forward to our ride too,” he murmured before feeding her a sugar cube. He had been training that horse for a few years now, and she had always been more his than the Royal he'd been training her for. He stepped away from her stall after a moment, and made his way out of the stables.

He decided to take a walk through the tower gardens on his way to the gates when the serenity of the afternoon was abruptly broken by a bundle of flight feathers falling at his feet.They were sky blue, and still slightly fluffy as if they were from a younger person. He let the bundle roll a few feet away from him before he noticed something jarring about the whole mess of feathers; the tips of the feathers were all still attached to one another, as if they were still on the wing. 

Geralt felt sick, and his own wings twitched against his back, before he glanced up at the tower and caught a glimpse of someone leaning on the window before they ducked inside. He couldn’t imagine what someone would need to have done to deserve something so cruel done to them, and then he heard it.

—

Jaskier had drowned in the silence of the last night, and couldn’t bring himself to take a breath of air. His parents had visited during the night, which they hadn’t done since his birthday. Honestly the more time he spent in the tower, the more it felt like they would prefer him six feet under rather than three hundred feet in the air.

He heard the sound of their wings before he saw them. The quiet flutter of his mother’s canary wings was almost completely drowned out by his father’s, and it didn’t surprise him once he looked over at the window to see him helping his mother into the room. 

“Last time I checked it wasn’t a holiday,” Jaskier murmured as he stood up and made his way over to them, he let his wing tips drag along the floor as he walked. By now, even if he had his feathers he knew he wouldn’t be able to fly. He refused to hold his wings up years ago, and most of his muscles simply withered away away from disuse. 

His mother wouldn’t look at him, she never did during visits anymore, he was a husk of his childhood self, and he couldn’t blame her for her disgust. “We have news for you Julian,” she said gently.

His father took a seat at the small table in the room. “We’ll discuss this formally, sit with me.” 

Jaskier paused where he stood. His father sat in his chair, the wooden stool was hidden amongst the thick feathers of his wings. Jealousy burned deep in his throat, but he complied, moving to sit beside the man. One of his secondary feathers had fallen from his wing as he moved but he didn’t seem to notice.

His mother winced at the sight but she kept quiet. “Well, Julian we’ve been in talks with the neighboring kingdom for a while now, and we’ve come to an agreement on how to best solidify our treaty.”

His father ran a hand through his hair, and looked down at Julian with the cold stare that he could never shake off. 

“You’re marrying Valdo Marx next spring, and he’ll spend the winter with us,” He said bluntly, “and I won’t hear anything else about it.”

Jaskier was floored, he nearly tripped over his wings as he stood and stumbled back from the table. He remembered Valdo, he remembered his lips at his throat, he remembered Valdo’s cold hands on his hips, and his too colorful wings blocking his view of the rest of the summer’s eve party. His heart caught in his chest, and his wings fluttered from the anxiety. “I can’t—please I can’t,” He managed to stammer out, before his back connected with the window, and he sunk to the floor from the pain in his wings.

“You must, you lost your chance for a choice in this,” His father said bluntly before he made his way over to the song bird. “We’ll leave you to make your peace.” He moved Jaskier away from the window and held his hand out for his wife. She was quick to follow her husband to the window, giving Jaskier a sympathetic look before they left him in the tower.

Jaskier stayed on the floor for the night, his thoughts keeping him up past dawn and well into the morning. It took him until noon to pull himself from his place. His wings were still sore from the movement and his joints ached from being on the floor, and in his lingering pain his eyes fell on his flight feathers.The bundle of long blue jay feathers had always seemed like a cruel joke, and now more than ever he couldn’t stand to look at them. 

Jaskier pulled himself to his feet, and using more energy than he had, he cast the window open and threw one of the bundles of feathers into the open air. He watched the feathers flutter as they fell before retreating further into the tower, picking up his lute, and beginning to play.


End file.
